


Trip's Toy Drawer

by Britpacker



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: Commander Tucker has a special drawer.  When Lieutenant Reed finds out, it's playtime!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Pure PWP. No spoilers. No beta either (which probably shows!)

Commander Charles Tucker the Third cursed as a third pair of unwashed socks emerged from underneath his bed. "Dammit, how did they get all the way under there?" he growled, aiming the unfortunate items in the general direction of his laundry tub. "And that's a clean pair!"

His irritation faded as he remembered exactly how an unworn pair of socks had gotten abandoned. He'd been halfway dressed when Mal staggered in off the night shift, all rumpled, stressed and adorable. Suddenly, putting clothes on had seemed like a _really_ bad idea.

He caught sight of his slack grin in the viewport, the dazed expression gilded by streaks of starlight as Enterprise ripped her way through space. Struck by the idiotic happiness reflecting back at him he stooped to open his underwear drawer, missed, and instead opened the shallower one beneath. "Sonofabitch!"

Tangled in the narrow tray was an assortment of objects he hadn't thought about in - oh, six weeks and three days, if his quick calculations were right. The chain of his favourite clamps had gotten wrapped around the ribbed butt plug he used to find so damn satisfying, and when he gingerly lifted them to untangle on his desk one of the tweezer ends snagged in a sticky mess around the neck of a slim rubber tube of alien oil. 

His smile turned sly as one by one he lifted the variously-shaped bottles and phials from their nest of stained toilet paper. How many shore leaves did this little collection represent? A couple of years' worth, he figured.

"Well now _that_ looks interesting."

Like a small boy with his hand in the cookie jar Trip jolted back, the white silk scarf wrapped around his fingers billowing out and depositing a second unmistakable implement of self-pleasure on the deck at his feet. Leaned against the open doorway Lieutenant Malcolm Reed cocked a sable eyebrow, his fine-drawn lips twitched into a sly half-smile. " _Very_ interesting," he amended. "I assume that's another one poking out of the drawer?"

"Um - oh, yeah, hi, Malcolm." Crimson to the roots of his dark blond hair Tucker scrabbled to gather his collection together, knocking a phallic tube of gooey unguent off the desk in his haste. Pushing himself off the wall, Reed sauntered into the cabin with his head on one side, mischief lancing blue and silver sparks through the storm-grey base of his mesmerizing eyes.

"Don't go tidying up on my account," he purred, sweeping up one of the assorted sharp-pointed feathers that had floated to the floor before pouncing on another item. "Ooohhh that _does_ look good! Three sectioned stroker, is it? Grips in _all_ the right places?"

"Er - yeah." The dark-haired armoury officer was regarding the transparent implement in question with greedy fascination. In the hope of distracting him from the other objects on display - bright-coloured condoms, assorted bottles and tubes, feathers and ribbons, stiff bristled brushes and more - Trip slapped a shapely dildo down into the Englishman's hand. "Ah've not needed it in a while..."

"I do love the way your accent thickens up when you're all embarrassed." Composure personified, Reed set aside the toys and frowned at the jumble of bits and pieces his boyfriend had dumped on the desk. "But what in God's name is _that?_ It looks like an instrument of torture!"

Gingerly he shook out a thin silver chain until the attendant items wrapped around it fell away and it dangled between thumb and forefinger, the two grip ends clinking musically together. "Aw, c'mon, Malcolm!" Trip exploded through a guffaw. "You've gotta have a set of those!"

"Indeed I don't." Despite the severe tone, Tucker realised, his companion was not unaffected by the miniature sex shop on display. His nostrils slightly flared, lips puckered up into a definite pout, Malcolm's wide eyes shifted from one thing to the next, lightning brain clicking through a dozen calculations a second. And as for lower down...

Trip Tucker knew better than anyone what a fine array Enterprise's armoury chief stored amidships, and it was charging up nicely while Malcolm considered the implements on his desk. He squeezed the clamps between his fingertips, frowning. "Care to explain?"

All right, he could admit it: it wasn't just Reed's cannon getting all fired up. The ticklish sensations that had been winding around Tucker's balls spread into his belly, pleasant tendrils of warmth reaching up toward his ribcage. "Mind if I..." he began, unfastening the smaller man's jumpsuit before permission could be granted with a jerk of the head. "You like a little _pressure_ , darlin'," he crooned, popping the upper buttons of the regulation black shirt in his haste. Not bothering to push up the cotton t-shirt beneath he snapped the clamps into place, deliberately squeezing the right side to increase the load on Reed's hyper-sensitive nub. His reward was instantaneous.

The small bud hardened visibly beneath the thin fabric. Malcolm's back arched. "It's set the way I like it, but if you want it tighter..."

"Mmmm, yes please." Briefly Trip released him, allowing the brunet to wrench the last barrier over his head before the clamps were reapplied and fingers rendered clumsy with excitement made the necessary adjustment. "Aaah, that's nice!"

"Lay back." Tucker was sure his toys had never been more appealing, with the man of his dreams flopped back on the bunk, jumpsuit hanging off, shirt wide open and erect penis bobbing. 

For his part, Malcolm had never felt more debauched.

Or, he decided, watching his new-ish lover go cross-eyed trying to admire both him and the tempting array on his desk at the same time, more desired. 

The sexy smirk on Trip's face as he approached wielding a shimmering black length of silk shot tiny prickles of heat into his balls. "You wanna play, dontcha?" the Southerner cooed, tickling the hem of the scarf against the Englishman's flushed cheek. Keeping his man distracted he reached for the silver chain lying in a loose loop across Reed's chest and gave a sharp tug. Malcolm squeaked, captivated by the sparks of pleasant pain that shot through him.

With an alacrity he seldom showed to this particular superior officer while on duty he raised his hips in response to the scratch of a quill against his belly. " _Good_ boy," Trip approved, removing the remainder of unwanted uniform with minimum fuss. By way of reward he twirled the glossy black feather around and tickled the tender flesh of his partner's inner thigh. "Now don't you go movin'; Ah'll be right back."

When he glanced over his shoulder the sight was enough to stop his breath. One hand idly playing with the chain across his chest Malcolm undulated, visibly luxuriating in the sensations coursing through his body. As his eye lighted on one particular bottle, clear plastic containing a rich ruby gel, Trip grinned, his head falling back. Anticipation, luscious and oozing as the lotion itself, uncoiled in his stomach. "Feelin' good?"

"Heavenly, thank you." The unnecessary courtesy widened Tucker's smile. With his thumbnail he flipped his chosen liquid open, nostrils starting to flare at the sweet and spicy scent that emerged.

"This'll make you feel even better," he promised, squeezing a generous dollop straight onto the Englishman's flat stomach. The reaction was immediate.

Malcolm groaned, fingers freezing on the chain while warmth, subtle and insidious as a naked flame above the skin began to ooze through his belly and the pungent, hypnotic scents of spice and citrus permeated his languid daze. "Nice," he moaned.

"The Makdar call it _the kiss 'f the gods_." High-falutin' nonsense in Trip's opinion, but as he began to spread the rosy puddle across his lover's belly and the man all but swooned he figured he'd forgive the aliens their exaggeration. Sweet but never sickly the scent engulfed them, the warming sensation penetrating deep beneath the skin wherever it touched. "More?"

"Please." This time it was applied to Reed's throat, which loosened reflexively in another enticing gasp. "Hot," the Brit murmured.

"You sure are." His hand was sweating, the oil's effect infusing every pore with its discreet heat. Gingerly Trip applied another coating to his fingertips and rubbed them leisurely around the base of his lover's erection. Malcolm mewed, convulsively humping thin air. "Easy, handsome. I'm not done with you yet."

To Malcolm the whispered words made no sense, bouncing off the bubble of bliss in which he was captive. His cock throbbed under Trip's loving assault, the chemical reaction of oil on flesh redoubled by the skill of that caressing hand. Lazily he rocked, his eyes beginning to glaze, the pressure building sweet and tight inside his balls. Somebody moaned. 

Dimly, he was aware it was probably him.

Luscious heat reached the tip of his cock. Malcolm stopped caring.

His buttocks came off the mattress and something slick tickled the sweet spot behind his balls. Lightning flared behind his eyelids and he sank down, revelling in the sharp sting of initial penetration. Trip's index finger wiggled, spreading lubricant and its faint, spicy tingle against his internal walls. Though he expected it, the sensation of heat trickling through from within almost undid the Englishman.

Trip ground his teeth hard, squeezing a small lake of liquid into his cupped palm. Beneath him his lover writhed, head tossing against the pillow, half-closed eyes smouldering as if smoke was rising through his innards to darken their usual light, bright grey shade. "Love you," he gasped, distracting both men with a kiss while slathering his impatient arousal. "Relax, Mal. Let me in."

Never more relaxed in his life, Reed spread his legs wider, mutely offering. Slick and loose, his muscles massaged into softness by the piquant warmth, he savoured the stretch of his passage without a trace of discomfort, shifting to draw his mate in farther when the man would have held back. "More," he mumbled, absently giving his clamps another twist.

The sharp sting running down his torso made him jerk, electrified. He clawed the left clasp, releasing it only to squeeze it shut again. 

Any other time he might have called the sensation pain. Ripping down his length it met the honeyed wave coming north and dissolved, firing off tiny tingles on its way. "Harder," he gasped unaware of the word on his tongue as it lapped the sweat from his top lip. "Harder!"

"Oh, yeah." Adding a twist of the hips, Trip thrust again, captivated by the slack-jawed smile that crossed his boyfriend's face. "There?"

The answer came in an incoherent burst of sound. Electric shocks raced the length of Reed's spine from the first touch to his prostate and he shuddered, fingers and toes curled in against pleasure's rush. 

It happened again. He yelped.

"C'mon, Malcolm." Sweat dribbled into Trip's eyes, blurring his view of that handsome face contorted with bliss. "Let go. I gotcha, jus' let go."

So saying he hit his lover's prostate and yanked on the clamp chain, shooting sensation in two directions when the tweezers pulled free. Malcolm reared off the mattress, engulfed by the twin assault, loose and liquid in his lower portions, fiery further north as his released buds screamed their relief. Shaking, shouting, he clutched at his pleasurer, the only semblance of reality left while his body and soul blew apart and the scattered atoms that had once been Malcolm Reed broke free to scatter through the stars.

He felt nothing of the powerful spurt that signalled Trip's release; the sound of the engineer's howl was lost beneath the drumroll of his own heartbeat. Lost in himself, Malcolm drifted in velvet satisfaction until slowly, sweetly, reality rebuilt itself and his heavy eyelids began to lift. 

"Hey, Gorgeous." Trip's happy smile was enough to melt his heart like an ice cream cone even before it had fully solidified. "You gonna come play with me again sometime?"

"Whenever you want, love." Dreamily Reed let his arm loll over the edge of the bunk, his fingers brushing the cool sleekness of a silken length on the floor. "I can't wait to see what you do with these! I've never thought of tying myself up..."

With a grin Trip tweaked the end of his man's straight nose, getting a playful slap in answer that sent interesting prickles from contact-point to cock. "Don't get smart with me, Loo-tenant," he drawled, loving the flirty roll of the title around his tongue. "Tellin' me you've never come from rubbin' yourself all over with something silky?"

"Actually, I haven't." One dark brow lifted. Inelegant with limbs still pleasantly wobbly, Reed clambered into a sitting position with his shoulders jammed against the bulkhead. "Obviously I'm not as adventurous as I thought."

"You're in good hands now." With the air of a conjurer Trip swept the trailing length of cream silk from the floor and ran it like a glittering stream down his companion's chest. "And if you wanna tie me up sometime..."

He could have gone cross-eyed watching the slow circuit made by a pink tongue tip around swollen British lips. "Actually, I had it the other way 'round," Malcolm rasped, the flush that eased up his throat betraying more excitement than shame. Tucker's heart slammed hard against his ribcage.

"Really?" he squeaked. 

He cleared his constricted throat and tried again. "But you hate bein' restrained! Hell you freaked out when Phlox tried to brace your leg after spike surgery!"

"That was different," Reed protested, trying and failing to accommodate the stirring between his legs without drawing attention that way. "And I could make an exception. I think I'd quite like to be _completely_ at your mercy. You wouldn't hurt me unless I asked nicely, would you?"

Crowded with visions of an aroused Malcolm tied to this bed with silken bonds it was hard for Tucker to think, still less flirt. "I'd never hurt you, Malcolm," he managed shakily, his heart cracking a little at the love and trust he saw reflected in the younger man's glowing face. "Hell, sometimes I'm still scared t' touch you in case you're gonna melt away! You - you're serious? You want me to tie you up?"

"Not right now." Emotion had, Malcolm mused, the oddest effect on a sexually sated male. Sleepiness rolled in on him like a thick sea fog and all he wanted to do for the next hundred years was snuggle in Trip Tucker's lovely strong, safe arms and dream. "But sometime soon I think... mmmm, I'd rather like to try."

"Just name the day, darlin'." Exhaustion was contagious, Trip discovered as the warm waves of drowsiness washed from the other man into him. He wriggled deeper into the mattress, cradling the precious weight of his playmate against his chest. Whenever that day came, he'd be ready to enjoy it.


End file.
